


Christina Comes Home For Christmas

by Cerusee



Series: Dolce Vita [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne tryin’ real hard to be a good dad here guys, Family Reunion, Fencing, Fluff, Gen, Nostalgia, Okay also some angst I guess, chocolate oranges, hollandaise sauce, just a bit really, not together thank goodness, some violence, why is there food in everything I write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 07:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13453134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerusee/pseuds/Cerusee
Summary: Like the Magi, Bruce comes bearing gifts.(The one where Bruce persuades Jason to come home for Christmas.  With some conditions.)





	1. Chapter 1

The last sight Jason was expecting to see, as he checked his security cameras after the knock at his apartment door, was _Bruce Wayne_ , dressed in a smartly cut black winter coat, a bright red scarf peeking out at the throat. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold, and in his hands, he clutched a small, festively, if messily wrapped cube.

Jason opened the door, and stared hard at him. “What do _you_ want?”

“Merry Christmas, Jason.”

“It’s not Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Eve, then.”

Jason opened the door a little wider and tilted his head in an unspoken invitation. Bruce took it, tucking the box under his arm long enough to strip off his leather gloves and slip them into his pocket. Some part of Jason noted that this time, Bruce had remembered not to toss them onto the table like he owned the damn place.

That hadn’t been the _actual_ reason Jason had punched Bruce in the face the last time he was at this apartment, but it had gotten on his nerves, and it made for a decent enough excuse.

“What are you actually doing here, Bruce? Don’t tell me you came all this way just to give me that, whatever it is. Which I don’t want. Unless it’s intel.” _Or the Joker’s severed head on a platter_ , he thought darkly. But he had a feeling that was a gift he was never going to get unless he bought it himself.

“Not exactly. I just happened to pick this up earlier today.” Bruce cleared his throat. “I was wondering— _we_ were wondering if you’d like to spend the holiday at the Manor this year.”

“Pass,” Jason said immediately. “I’m not really in the mood to play happy family with the whole crew.” The Cave and the cases and the masks were one thing, and he’d gotten the point where he didn’t mind dropping by the Manor on the occasional errand or for tea with Alfie, but the idea of spending even one night in the Manor surrounded by all his “siblings”, not to mention assorted other honorary members of the family, made him feel uneasy. Claustrophobic.

“That’s the thing, Jay, it wouldn’t be the whole family. Everyone besides Alfred and I are spending the holiday elsewhere this year.”

“I see,” Jason said, his stomach turning sour. “I’m the last choice for company, when you don’t have any other options.” He contemplated punching Bruce again. Hell, they could make a new tradition out of it.

“No. No, that’s not it at all, Jason,” Bruce said.

And Jason was finally able to put a name to the vibe he’d been getting off Bruce since the moment he opened the door: apprehension. 

Bruce was _nervous_. 

He was way too in control of himself to let it show openly, but when you lived and worked with the man long enough, you learned how to spot the minnows teaming in the emotional undercurrents.

“I thought this could be an opportunity.”

“An opportunity? For what?”

“It’s been pointed out to me that I—all of us really—may not have given enough consideration to how you would feel about all the changes that took place in your...absence.” A minute twitch in his fingers. “Not just in, ah...Tim succeeding you as Robin. But also the way the family grew while you were gone. It happened gradually. Bit by bit.” Bruce looked to the side. “Sometimes I think more gradually than it should have. I was...slow, in accepting the new people in my life as anything more than partners. Responsibilities.”

 _Huh_ , was all Jason could think of as he stared at Bruce. Wasn’t _that_ a little bit of a mindfuck. 

That wasn’t how it had been for him. Not at all. Things had happened lightning fast between them—not three days after Jason had met Batman, he’d been brought into both his confidence and his home. Bruce hadn’t pushed, exactly, but he’d brought up the prospect of adoption not long after that, and told Jason they could start right away, if that was what Jason wanted. _If_ and _when_ he felt comfortable with the idea. 

It hadn’t taken very long. Jason had never felt safer than when he lived in the Manor. He’d never doubted Bruce’s affection for him, back in those days. 

The doubt came much later.

“It must have seemed like it happened overnight, to you,” Bruce said, sounding wistful.

It had. He’d all but gotten whiplash from it, the thought of how quickly things had changed while he was gone. It had never occurred to him that—maybe they _hadn’t_. Jason was walking proof that Bruce could make major life decisions on the turn of a dime, and also he knew for a fact that he’d been replaced as Robin in a matter of months after he’d gone to feed the roses. Jason had gone from being Bruce’s partner and son to an afterthought. When he finally came back, he’d found a dozen new Bat-affiliated vigilantes skittering around Gotham, and it seemed like half of them were living under Bruce’s roof. Under what had once been _Jason’s_ roof. 

The Manor was still there, but Jason’s home wasn’t.

“I thought that perhaps this could be a chance for you to come spend the holiday with the family that you remember,” Bruce said quietly. “Just you, me and Alfred.”

“I don’t know,” Jason said, unable to keep his shaky nerves out of his voice. “Bruce, I...”

 _God_ , the thought was tempting. He almost wanted to agree immediately, but the prospect filled him with overwhelming emotion, and his judgement felt none too sound.

“Why don’t you open this, before you decide.” Bruce offered him the box.

Jason took it, and ripped off the messy packaging, just to have something to occupy his hands. Clearly, Alfred hadn’t been the one to wrap this; maybe Bruce was telling the truth and he’d really just picked it up.

“Oh my god, really?” He stared at the festive box and the bright orange foil-wrapped sphere it contained.

A chocolate orange. He _loved_ chocolate oranges. He could still remember the first time he’d had one, Rena slipping a piece over the table towards him at lunch, smiling at him, her dark hair sliding over her windbreaker— 

No, it hadn’t been lunch. They’d been outside. And she’d been giggling. Was it after school? Had they cut classes? Had it—had it been a _date_? He couldn’t remember and he didn’t think there was anyone he could ask, even if he could bear to. 

His memories were still swiss cheese, and he hated it. The gaps _before_ upset him the most. He felt cheated by those gaps, the stubborn missing pieces that everyone else could remember that Jason was still stumbling across by accident.

Books he found himself quoting, that he couldn’t remember reading. Moves that came naturally, that he didn’t remember practicing. He’d lost so much time to begin with, and now he was realizing that he’d lost even more.

But he remembered that he’d gotten a chocolate orange in his stocking that year, after coming home that afternoon with Rena and excitedly telling Alfred about it. (Dorky, sure. But Jason always got excited about food, back then.) That chocolate orange had been the cheapest thing he’d ever been given under Bruce’s roof.

He’d been absolutely delighted.

“When I saw this in a department store, I remember how much you liked them,” Bruce said hopefully.

“I...shit, yeah, I did. Do. Still do.” Jason couldn’t help but smile, and he fumbled the orange out of its packaging, peeled off the sticker sealing the top, and slammed the orange onto the table. He fished out two segments and tossed one to Bruce, who caught it easily. Bruce smiled too. He looked relieved. 

“I’m glad.”

Jason bit into his own, and then startled. “It’s fucking dark chocolate!”

Bruce’s head snapped up in alarm. “I’m sorry—I didn’t notice. I can get you a new one—”

Jason waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I was just surprised.”

He bit his lip, though. Bruce remembered that Jason liked milk chocolate.

Jason finished his piece and rubbed his fingers on his jeans. “Look, if I come—I didn’t get anything for you.”

“Just having you home for Christmas is all either of us could ask for, Jay. Truly.”

Jason decided not to mention he actually _had_ gotten something for Alfred (novelty bat-themed socks; he’d been in a whimsical mood that day). It would only hurt Bruce’s feelings, and Jason didn’t feel like doing that right now.

“What the hell, I’ll do it. Just let me grab a change of clothes.” He had a few things at the Manor, at Alfred’s urging, mostly in case he ended up there overnight on a case, or he’d bled all over whatever he’d come in with, and needed a less alarming exit outfit. But if he was gonna do this, he might as well make a real trip out of it. Show up with duffel bag on his shoulder, like some punk college kid on a break.

As he packed, he found himself wondering if he ever would have done that if he hadn’t died. Gone to college. Come home on the weekends or whatever with a bag full of unwashed laundry. At fifteen, he hadn’t been quite ready to think about it—hadn’t been quite ready to think about growing up and leaving the home and family he’d only just begun to take for granted—and afterwards, well, his education had taken an _unconventional_ turn. It wasn’t like he needed formal schooling for the career he’d committed himself to.

He had loved school, though, and some piece of himself still ached for the lost opportunity. Just like it ached for the lost normality of his life with Bruce and Alfred. For the satisfying routines of home and school and Batman and Robin.

For the lost happiness.

He knew he could never have it back. Life had changed, Bruce had changed, Jason had changed, more than anyone. 

But maybe just for a night or two, he could let himself remember.

Bruce’s hand was on his shoulder as they left together, and Bruce took Jason’s duffel as he locked the apartment behind them. Jason caught a last glimpse of the shiny orange foil-wrapped chocolate on the kitchen table as he pulled the door shut.

It would be there when he returned, in a day or three, in whatever mood. He was leaving it as a reminder to himself. 

A remembrance of when life had been sweeter.

***

“Where’s the herd, then?”

“Tim and Damian are with the assorted Kents.” Bruce’s accent on the phrase “assorted Kents” was priceless. “Barbara invited Dick to spend Christmas with her and Jim.” _She could do better,_ Jason silently grumbled. “And Stephanie asked Cassandra to come celebrate Christmas with her and her mother.”

“Wow,” Jason said. “They _all_ cut and ran this year?” He tried to say it lightly, as a joke, but somehow it didn’t quite come out that way.

“Hnh,” was all Bruce said.

A couple of minutes later, “I had a business trip. It was canceled at the last minute.”

 _And so you came to me_ , Jason thought.

Bruce was on point this evening, though, because he was already reaching out and squeezing Jason’s shoulder. “This is an opportunity,” he said again, his voice so gentle in the way that you never could imagine from Batman, until you heard it. “I wanted to spend some time with you alone.”

Jason swallowed and tilted his head back against the headrest. He closed his eyes. “Tim and Damian in the same household for Christmas? Whose brilliant idea was that?”

“Not mine.” Bruce snorted. “But for once, it’s not my problem.”

Jason snickered.

***

“Master Jason,” Alfred said, pulling back from the embrace enough to smooth his hand over Jason’s hair. “You’re looking very well.”

“It’s good to see you, Alfred,” Jason said.

“Thank you for the—” Alfred started to say.

“Don’t mention it,” Jason replied eyes darting towards Bruce. “Please.”

Alfred’s mustache twitched, and he nodded.

Jason coughed. “So, uh, what’s for dinner?” He’d honestly be happy with pizza, but as long as Bruce was in residence, he didn’t think Alfred would go light. Too much tradition. Too much emotion. And this was not a household where economics had ever ruled over emotion. Alfred would make an entire feast for one petty, difficult teen, and throw it away, if there was a chance it might remind his charge of happier days.

“Roast beef and potatoes, of course, and grilled asparagus.”

“With hollandaise?” Jason asked hopefully.

“It wouldn’t be Christmas without it, sir,” Alfred assured him.

***

Alfred certainly hadn’t stinted on the decorations, despite the minimal family attendance. The front of the Manor was done up in lights and there was a huge, beautifully dressed tree in the front hall. Everywhere he looked, there were the bows and wreaths and elegant Christmas ornaments he remembered from all those years ago. The last time he’d seen them had been a few months before he’d died in Ethiopia. He’d been back at the Manor since then, but never during the holidays. 

The sight of it all brought a painful lump to his throat, and he had the brief, dizzying sensation that no time had passed at all. He wasn’t sure if coming here had been a wonderful idea or a terrible one.

Jason wondered if Alfred had been counting on Jason’s acquiescence, or if he had done all this thinking it was just for Bruce and himself. 

He realized he’d never asked what Bruce’s childhood Christmases had been like, after his parents died, and it was just the two of them, in this oversized house. Jason had gotten the distinct impression that Bruce had been a difficult child—Alfred had mentioned that Bruce could be a bit of a handful when he was younger (Jason mentally translated that to “total nightmare” or maybe just “little shit”). Had Bruce done that thing where he just emotionally shut down, refusing comfort or joy? Had he allowed Alfred to try to preserve the traditions of his family, to keep those happier memories alive?

Bruce had disappeared into the kitchen to confer with Alfred about something, and Jason let himself wander freely through the rooms of the first floor, eventually ending up in Bruce’s study, awash in a cozy feeling of nostalgia. He was warming his hands over the crackling fire someone had lit in the fireplace when something on the mantel caught his eye.

A pair of wooden silhouettes, shaped like stylized reindeer. One was large, and painted a glossy black, except for the white eyes, and a delicate yellow bat-insignia over its chest. The other was about half the size of the first one, with its head thrown back as if looking up at the larger reindeer, or maybe at the sky, painted in yellow, green, and red, right down to the little red “R” over its chest. They both had small holes drilled at the highest point of their horns, laced with bright red ribbons that were hung with little silver bells.

This had been his woodworking project from the first semester of his sophomore year, finished just in time for Christmas. He’d designed the patterns himself, then carved them both out of a thick slab of cedar. The Dynamic Duo paint jobs had been his idea, of course. Bruce had half-heartedly tried to scold him for associating himself with his secret identity that way on a school project, but Jason had scoffed, and assured Bruce that there was nothing suspicious about a fifteen-year-old kid being into Batman and Robin. (As a fifteen-year-old kid himself, he had felt that he was more of an authority on the subject than an old geezer like Bruce.)

Bruce had given up on arguing after the geezer remark, and they’d hung the Batman and Robin reindeer on the tree together. Jason could still remember the little smile on Bruce’s face as he he stretched up his arm to hang the Batman-deer, amused and pleased by it in spite of himself.

What the hell were they doing here? It wouldn’t have been odd if they were stuffed away in a box somewhere, or even hung on the tree as they once had been, but to have them here, in the study, clearly on display, but only in Bruce’s private sanctuary...did they live here year-round? Did they just come out for Christmas? Were they just brought out for this Christmas, in anticipation that Jason might actually be here this year?

He couldn’t help note that the bells—real silver; he’d bought them at a craft store—were shiny and bright, not a speck of tarnish on them. 

He was a detective, after all. Batman had trained him to notice that kind of thing.


	2. Chapter 2

“How can you even fucking ask? Of course I meant the 1982 version,” Jason said snippily. “We don’t even have the 1934 version.”

“Tim gave me the 1934 version on DVD a couple of years ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason said, wanting and not wanting to ask how Tim had even known. This was their thing, something he’d shared with Bruce that Dick hadn’t. The idea of Bruce bonding with Tim or any of the others over it sent a icy wave of unease through his gut.

“I believe it was Alfred’s suggestion, when Tim came to him asking what to get, quote, ‘the billionaire who has everything’. To be honest, I never got around to watching it.”

And with that, the cold receded. This was still...safe. Still his. Still _theirs_. “Well, nothing against Leslie Howard,” he said lightly, “but that version doesn’t have Jane Seymour, and I’m personally appalled that this is even in question.”

“I just wanted to give you the opportunity to broaden your horizons, Jay-lad.”

“You were trolling me.”

“I would never,” Bruce said, utterly straight-faced.

“Just put in the damn movie, Bruce.”

***

“Man, that swordfight,” Jason said, laughing, as they made their way towards the dining room. “Still the greatest. He just takes him apart, piece by piece. And all in style.”

“The first time we watched that together, you asked me if I could teach you to fence.”

“And you told me it wasn’t a mission-priority skill.”

“I was already trying to decide if you’d prefer private lessons or classes at the YMCA,” Bruce admitted.

“No kidding? I remember it took me like a month to work up the nerve to ask for lessons on the side.”

“I just didn’t want you to get overloaded during the school year. You were a pretty busy kid.”

“Do you still have…” Jason fidgeted. “Y’know, your old épée?”

“You mean your old épée, Jay. I did give it to you to keep.”

That got a small, pleased smile out of Jason.

“And yes, we still have it. It went back into the attic with the rest of the fencing gear.”

“I have this crazy urge to pull it all out again,” Jason said. “Which is stupid; none of it would fit me anymore anyway. And I haven’t practiced in ages, so I’m probably rusty as hell.”

“You know, we might have some gear in the Cave that would do,” Bruce said thoughtfully. “And I haven’t fenced since I was a teenager myself...”

Alfred interjected, “If you’re planning what I think you’re planning, Master Bruce, I’m afraid it will have to wait until after dinner. I require Master Jason’s services.”

“Oh?”

“Hollandaise is the most delicate of the mother sauces, sir. I could use a second pair of hands to ensure that the sauce doesn’t break.”

Jason shrugged. “He’s right, B. Can’t take any chances with the hollandaise.”

Bruce’s lips quirked. “You’ve never asked _me_ for help.”

“You forget, sir, I _did_ once ask you, when you were much younger.” Alfred’s face took on a pained look. “An ordeal I swore never to subject myself to again.”

“Just how bad was it?” Jason asked, with a barely suppressed note of glee.

“Not only did the sauce break and the yolks curdle, in the brief period of time in which I went to fetch replacement ingredients to start afresh, he somehow set the entire pan on fire.”

Jason whistled. “ _Damn_ , Bruce.” He shook his head in mock disappointment as he followed Alfred into the kitchen.

Bruce told himself Alfred was playing it up to lure Jason into helping him in the kitchen just as he’d so eagerly done as a boy, and tried to ignore the sudden vivid sense memory of the smell of burnt butter and eggs.

***

“ _En garde!_ ”

Jason’s foil snapped forward, and was met in a lightning second by Bruce’s. Jason felt his blade bent upwards, and twisted his grip, then pulled back. 

They disengaged.

Bruce inclined his head, and flourished his sword. 

Jason nodded, and did the same.

They circled each other, elbows bent just so, and knees drawn.

Bruce was the aggressor this time, but Jason countered him easily.

The last time they’d fenced, Bruce had roundly kicked his ass, which wasn’t surprising, because Bruce had had height, weight, reach, strength, and superior training. Finally being able to match Bruce in this particular arena was gratifying all by itself.

Jason still had speed, apparently, despite finally matching Bruce in height and bulk.

He grinned. “Slow on your feet, B.”

Bruce grinned back, and lunged.

Jason had forgotten how much he loved fencing. It was exhilarating, like chess, but with more adrenaline. A _lot_ more adrenaline. Jason could feel that he was winning, though. Bruce wasn’t holding back, and Jason was still scoring points on him. The thought made him giddy, and he laughed.

He was still grinning when he had Bruce almost backed up against the wall and Bruce’s eyes suddenly widened in alarm. 

That was all the warning he got before _Dick fucking Grayson_ abruptly kicked the foil out of his hand and wrestled Jason down to the ground.

“ _Stay down!_ ” Dick snarled at him, bending Jason’s left arm back in a hold where he’d have to dislocate it to get out of it.

Jason twisted, feeling the sickening pop of his elbow going out, and used his other arm and his legs to flip them, grabbing Dick’s hair and using it as a grip to bounce Dick’s skull off the floor.

Bruce seized Jason by his collar and pulled him up off Dick and off the floor. “ _Enough, both of you!_ ”

Dick sat up slowly, gingerly touching the back of his head and wincing. “Bruce, are you okay? What the hell is going on?”

Jason retreated, cradling his elbow. “Did you plan this?” he spat at Bruce. “Was this just a set-up? What was the game?”

Dick was already off the floor, and putting himself back in position, his eyes locked on Jason. “Bruce?”

“ _If I might interject!_ ” Alfred said in a commanding voice.

Everybody froze. Jason realized he was panting, his eyes darting around the room. Dickhead over there, poised to attack again. Bruce over here, body language disarming, foil discarded. He hadn’t even realized Barbara was there in the Cave with them. She must have come in with his royal Dickface. She looked appalled, one hand digging into her chair for what Jason knew was her escrima sticks. Babs didn’t have a mask she needed to protect anymore—nothing that required her to pretend to be less physically adept than she was, anyway—and so she always went loaded for bear. Ready for any threat.

Ready to help her boyfriend take Jason down, apparently. _That_ burned. 

And Alfred, in the middle of the room, holding his hands up in a _pace_ gesture. Not glaring, exactly, but looking very stern.

The fight-or-flight reaction was melting away now that Alfred had taken command of the scene. “Bruce,” Jason choked out. “You _promised_ me.” He felt exposed, like Dick’s strike had cracked his arm clean in half and left the bone marrow steaming into the cool cave air, instead of just dislocating a joint.

“I didn’t break my promise, Jay,” Bruce said gently. “I’m not sure what’s going on. Dick? Barbara? Why are you here?”

Babs cleared her throat and swiped awkwardly at her hair. “Dad got called into work.”

Bruce stiffened. “Should I…?”

“No. It’s not a cape thing. But we had to cancel our Christmas.”

“We thought we would surprise Alfred, since he was all alone,” Dick said, sounding uncertain. “I let us in, but there was no one upstairs, so we decided to check the Cave.”

“He really didn’t plan this?” Jason asked Alfred.

“No sir, not to my knowledge,” Alfred assured him.

“You’re off the hook, then,” Jason said to Bruce, roughly. “I need to go.” He started towards the staircase. He wished he hadn’t come with Bruce. He’d have to go all the way upstairs, across the whole Manor, and down into the garage, before he could steal a civilian car. He wished he had his bike. He could already be gone.

“Master Jason, at the very least, let me put your arm back into joint before you leave.”

Jason’s first instinct was to disappear, but—what were his alternatives? Do it himself (doable, but unpleasant), bug Doc Thompkins on what ought to be a holiday, or sit for the next twelve hours as a low-priority in the ER. “Fine,” he said, resigned, and let Alfred lead him off.

***

“Bruce, what the hell was that?” Dick asked, genuinely baffled. “I thought you were supposed to be on a trip. Instead, we come in here, and not only are you here, so’s _Jason_ , pointing a sword at you and laughing like a loon.”

“He was invited. I asked him to come home for Christmas,” Bruce said, sounding displeased. “And he actually _agreed_ for once, when I said it would just be the three of us.” He glanced over at the medbay, where Alfred was preparing to put Jason’s elbow back in joint, and then at Dick. The frustration in his voice softened slightly as he said, “How’s your skull?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Dick said, even though he was pretty sure he was going to have a goose egg from that hit. Jason had not been holding back with that strike. “I’ve been hit a lot worse. What’s with the the…” He gestured at the discarded foils.

Bruce looked sour. “We were fencing.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Didn’t Jason use to fence as a kid?” Babs asked. “I remember him mentioning he was starting lessons at the Y. He was pretty excited, babbling about about learning to fight just like ‘Sir Percy’.”

“From _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ ,” Bruce said, in an immensely fond tone. “There’s a fight scene in it that he loved. Loves. A fencing match.”

“I never knew that,” Dick said, chagrined.

“I’m starting to get the feeling we just crashed a private party,” Babs told Dick, ruefully. “Look, Bruce, I’m going to see if I can’t smooth things over with Jason before he makes a break for it,” she said, already wheeling herself over towards the medbay. “And we’ll call ahead next time,” she said, over her shoulder. 

Dick wasn’t sure if that was meant for Bruce, or for him.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Dick said, sighing. “I really screwed this one up, jumping Jason like that without assessing the situation first. I just wasn’t expecting him to be here, and honestly, it looked like he was about to stab you with that thing.”

Bruce shook his head. “He’d probably leave even if you hadn’t. Just you _being_ here...”

“Does he hate me that much?” Dick asked in a small voice.

“It’s not like that.” Bruce paused. “I had a conversation with someone. About Jason. Pointing out certain things I hadn’t thought of.”

“Oh?”

“She’s always been fond of you boys, you know,” Bruce said.

“Selina?”

Bruce was looking over at the medbay, and Dick followed his gaze. Jason was taut as a bowstring, but he was was holding on to Barbara’s hand, and he didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“Selina and Jay used to compete with one another. For my time. My attention. Neither of them liked having to share.” Bruce seemed embarrassed, looking back at Dick. “I had no idea what I was doing back then. I made so many mistakes with him.”

“Bruce—”

Bruce’s face turned grim. “You have to understand—by the time Jason was twelve years old, life had already taken _everything_ from him, more than it even took from you and me—everything except his courage, his determination to survive. I took him in, I made him Robin, I made him my _son_ , because I wanted to give back everything that had been stolen from him. And in the end...the mistakes I made ended up costing him more than any of us could ever have dreamed of. I can’t undo my mistakes, Dick. But I can try to make up for them. I want—I want to try again. I _have_ to try again. If Jason will let me. And when he agreed to come spend Christmas with us, as long as it was just the three of us—”

“—as long Jason could have your undivided attention, and not have to share you with anyone else, because in so many ways, Jason is a little kid who still hasn’t grown up.”

Bruce didn’t deny it. “He’s lost time, Dick. He’s lost so much time.”

Dick thought of Damian as he had been when Talia had first brought him to them—arrogant, violent, selfish. It had taken him time to unlearn the most toxic lessons of his upbringing, and a lot of it. Taken up so much of Dick’s focus. Would their partnership have been as successful as it was if Damian had had to compete for Dick’s time and attention, if he’d had to vie for it against Tim and Cass? (He still felt guilty about not being there for Tim, back then, but...Damian had needed him more. He’d turned into such an amazing kid. He couldn’t regret the choices he’d made that helped Damian get there.)

He remembered how he himself had felt at first, when Jason had popped up out of nowhere, suddenly in Dick’s old home, in his old role. And Dick had at least left _voluntarily_ , if not on the greatest terms with Bruce at the time. He’d been ready to fly the nest. And yet—he’d still resented Jason at first, made insecure by the boy Bruce had adopted without so much as word or warning. He found out he needed time to adjust to the change.

Jason...Jason had not left voluntarily. From what they’d been able to piece together about his time away, he’d gone through sheer hell. Easy to let himself ignore that, when Jason was running around causing chaos; harder these days, when they were finally on speaking terms better than the exchange of dramatic monologues and threats. He’d been taken away from his family, undergone deep trauma, and then finally come home to find that family full of strangers.

It didn’t excuse the heads in duffel bags, or the rest of it, but maybe Dick could cut him a _little_ slack on the teenage churlish reluctance to share the people he loved with people he barely knew.

“I get it, Bruce, I do.” He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If you think it’ll help Jason to get some quality time with his old man—Babs and I can get out of your hair.”

Bruce looked guilty. “I don’t want you to feel as if you’re being thrown out—the Manor will always be your home, and I can’t ask you to leave it—”

“It’s fine. You’re not asking; I’m offering.” And hopefully, Jason would take it as an olive branch. Dick was starting to feel pretty guilty about ruining what had been not just a friendly sparring match, but apparently some kind of reenactment of cherished childhood memories.

Fencing, though, good lord. Jason’s penchant for drama had never translated itself into his fighting style the way Dick’s born showmanship had for his own. He’d always tended more towards brutal efficiency.

That would really be something to see, actually—Jason fighting not for survival, or to achieve a goal, but just for the sheer pleasure of it.

***

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Babs said, reaching out to catch Jason’s good hand. “We really screwed up here.”

Jason glared at her and yanked his hand out of reach.

Alfred wasn’t chastising Jason’s rudeness, and if _that_ wasn’t a blatant-if-silent declaration of whose side he was on.

“We honestly had no idea.”

Jason wasn’t even looking at her as he put his arm out, and Alfred put his elbow back into joint with a sickening _pop_ that hardly even registered with any of them anymore.

“Would you please talk to me?” Babs said, frustrated. “Clearly, we intruded on something private between you and Bruce, and I apologize for both of us. We screwed up. I’m sorry. I know Dick is, too.”

Jason turned towards her so suddenly and viciously that she would swear her chair went back an inch all on its own. “ _Fuck you_. You were about to come at me.”

Her jaw dropped. “What the hell?” she said, at the same time that Alfred started to interject, “I don’t think that was quite the case, Master Jason—”

He snarled, “After Dick jumped me, I saw you were already going for your escrima sticks. Like he needed the backup. I wasn’t even—you came into _my_ house, and you were—you were ready to hurt me.”

“Jason,” Babs said helplessly. She put her hands on her knees and clenched them hard. “No. That is not what just happened, okay?”

“No?” Behind him, Alfred put a soothing hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“No.” she said firmly. “Jason, I was getting ready to throw one at Dick. So he’d let you up.”

Jason stared at her. “...you guys have a weird relationship,” he finally said, and looked away.

“Dick jumped the gun. He can be over-protective about the people he cares about.” She pushed herself a little farther, and reached out for Jason’s good hand again. He let her slip her hand into his and hold it, this time.

“Not for me,” Jason said, very softly.

Babs’ heart throbbed in her chest. “Not yet. But you’ll see.”

***

Dick was texting furiously as he approached, and Babs’ phone started buzzing.

“Will you look at that,” she said, looking down at it, with a barely suppressed tone of irony. “Apparently, Dad’s crime stuff is all done and we should go back. Right now.”

Jason rolled his eyes at Dick, who didn’t even try to be subtle about slipping his phone into his back pocket.

“I’m sorry, Jason, I am,” he said. “I screwed up. And if you don’t mind, we’re just going to get out of your hair now, so you can enjoy the rest of your Christmas.”

“Yeah?” Jason said. “Don’t let the door hit your ass or anything.”

“No worries,” Dick said. “Hey, Jay?”

“Don’t.”

“Do you remember that time you were on patrol, when Bruce’s grapple failed, and he fell two stories off a balcony, and landed right in front of a moving car?”

Jason went stiff.

“You were so scared. But you went down and you dragged Bruce out of the street, and you called me, and you called Alfred for the car, and you got him to Leslie’s. Because that’s what Robin is there for, right?”

“To have Batman’s back,” Jason muttered. “That’s Robin’s job.”

Dick didn’t say anything.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Jason said, with a deep sigh. “Point taken.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick said cheerfully. “Can I put in a request?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I had no idea that either of you guys fenced, and I’d love to, you know. See a match. Without my, uh, participation, this time.”

Jason’s eyebrows slowly climbed towards his hairline.

“Cross my heart and hope to die, we’ll leave straight after,” Dick said. “But I really would love to see this.”

“...okay,” Jason said cautiously. “Once I kick Bruce’s ass while you keep yours out of the picture this time, and by the the way I will fracture your pelvis if you touch me again today, Dick—you guys’ll clear the fuck out?”

“If I have to drag him by the hair,” Babs promised.

“Well in that case,” Jason said. He turned to call out to Bruce. “All right, old man, pick up your foil!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this was totally meant to be done by Christmas, and then it...wasn't. But I don't feel like waiting eleven months to post it, so. Here! Have a fic!
> 
> (Shout-out to anyone who recognizes the source of the title.)


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